I Just Called to Say
by jalenmara
Summary: Post-vent. Anything can happen, but what, exactly? Rated M for a reason, Sexual content, blah de blah blah blah.
1. I Want You

**I Just Called to Say**

_by jalen_mara_

**A/N:** In an attempt to give the GA universe a somewhat coherent time line, this fic assumes (gasp!) that Cristina posted Karev's name promptly at 4pm, that Karev was given 2 hours to prep (surgery to begin at 6pm), and that the vent kissing didn't last nearly as long as we all wanted it to. Don't worry. I plan to remedy that. ;) **Spoilers** for the entire season thus far-- anything is fair game. Fic and chapter titles are a conglomeration of song and movie quotes. Extra points if you guess which ones. ;)

**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to people richer than I am. Maybe if I had an original thought in my head I would be making something for _other_ people to write about. Don't sue me, I'm an actress anyways, you won't get much.

~*~*~*~

_I Want You_

It had been 31 hours and 17 minutes since she had last seen him. On the vent... Where anything could happen. Not that she had been counting, or semi-not- purposefully avoiding him. It wasn't like the kiss had taken her by surprise. No, for the first time she had read all the signs correctly, and they had both known where the encounter was going. Neither had time to think, just to react.

She had leaned in, and he was there. He always seemed to be ready to catch her if she fell. Of course, to think that she had fallen into a kiss with Dr. Owen Hunt was preposterous. Her hand curled around the wine glass on the table in front of her and she sighed, remembering the sexy, knowing look he had given her just before she had leaned in to kiss him. _Just wait…_ For the first time they had kissed each other. She had been given a choice and she chose to fall.

Cristina brought the glass of merlot to her lips, trying to ignore that fact that they were still slightly chapped from the interaction with his goatee. She felt a small smile creep across her face. She supposed there were worse ailments in the world. If not for the almost simultaneous buzzing of their perspective pagers Cristina had the sneaking suspicion that other areas might have become… chafed… in the past 31 hours as well.

And yet, here she sat, alone in her apartment at two o'clock in the morning. Callie was on call tonight, and had opted to stay in an on-call room. Cristina hadn't asked any questions, but a part of her wondered if Callie had chosen to stay in a place that didn't reek of memories of Hahn. Now that Cristina knew they had been a couple, it made sense to think that Callie might be a little haunted by their new apartment and the fragile joy that it had brought, if only for a few sparse moments.

Cristina knew first hand what those feelings did to a person, but she had reveled in it. She had immersed herself, body and soul, into that place-- refusing to give in to the hurt and pain. Instead of retreating to a different place she had splashed some red paint on the walls and brought home a roommate. _Stuff that up your ass, Burke_. She had thought defiantly.

She sipped her wine and quietly wondered if maybe Callie didn't have the right idea. But that was neither here nor there. She was here now, in her own version of the After.

The room was quiet, the only sound other than her not so steady breathing was the clock ticking, constantly reminding her of the ever-present movement of time. 8 months ago she had been in love, ready as she would ever be to get married, trying to please him one last time. 8 months ago her life had been shattered, her freedom granted, only to realize it wasn't the type of freedom she wanted. 7 months ago she had brought Callie home to live with her, out of character some might say, but she couldn't bear hearing the clock tick by herself for one more night. Meredith had been there then... But she, as always, had needed her more than she thought Cristina needed her.

5 months ago, she had thrown herself into trying to impress Dr. Hahn, as much to prove to herself that it wasn't because of _him_ that she had chosen this specialty, that it was because it was what she loved. She had been right, and she refused to let the ghost of his presence take away something she wanted, something she loved... 4 months ago she had not wished him well, she still didn't truth be told, although the pain had now abated to a dull ache. Intellectually she knew that it would never leave, but she could always rest in hope.

And then, 3 months ago she had been awoken from her self-induced coma in the form of "Army Surgeon Badass", who had done "something crazy with a pen on a guy's throat." Secretly she still thought that was hot. But that was Before. In the Before when he knew her name and hadn't cared that he wasn't numbed, or that he didn't technically have patients in the hospital, or that she didn't know him. That kiss had seared itself into her memory as the moment that she had known that she was ready to move on. After all, hadn't he said that mistakes were how you learn?

2 months ago she was on the prowl for interns, albeit briefly. She needed a man, and Burke had definitely been a man, just not the man that she needed no matter how much time she had secretly spent thinking that she did. He was the man she had wanted, and lost, but she was just now coming to the realization that that was no fault of her own. He had tried to make it seem that way, while he was the one doing the leaving, but she refused to let his memory play the victim anymore.

Because 1 month ago, Owen had come back, bringing his After with him. He had said he didn't need her, but all evidence seemed to point to the contrary. Maybe they needed each other, Cristina didn't know. All she did know was that she wanted him. And for the first time in a long time, she felt that that was ok. She wouldn't allow the memory of Burke to cheat her out of something else that she wanted.

It was time to move on. It wouldn't be perfect, and she would never have that fairytale ending that Meredith longed for, but that was all right with Cristina. She would settle for living, really living. And part of living was going after what she wanted. She just had to work up her courage. The wine was supposed to have been helping with that, however she hadn't drunk more than just a few sips. Quite frankly she had forgotten the glass was still in her hand, but that was all right. She had the feeling that if she did this, she would have to overcome a myriad of excuses on his end. She wouldn't add them from hers.

She took a steadying breath, took one more sip of her wine for good measure, and picked up the cordless phone innocently sitting beside the still quite full bottle of merlot.

"Here goes nothing." she muttered, dialing the numbers purposefully. The worst thing he could say would be no, right? Right. The phone rang once, and she glanced at the clock, 2:30am. She winced; it wasn't like she was calling Mer to chat about her mother's diaries, and what happened if--

"Hello?" Cristina's voice caught in her throat, distracted by the fact that he sounded oddly coherent for this early in the morning.

"Are you on call?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

There was a surprised pause before a rush of air sounded over the receiver, a precursor to his deep chuckle. "No."

"Oh. Um. Hi..." She was greeted with silence, save for the sound of his breathing. "It's..." she paused, a part of her unable to say her own name, just as he seemed to be unable to do. "It's me..." she trailed off.

"I know." There was a rustling noise that must have come from his shifting from wherever he was. "If my clock is right, it's 2:30 in the morning. I doubt you called to have a casual chat." Cristina just nodded, unable to say anything, and knowing exactly how stupid she was appearing at this moment, but unable to help it all the same. "Do you have something you want to say to me?" His voice softened just a bit, and Cristina could almost feel the smile warming her from across the phone.

The importance of his phrasing jarred her just enough. She wouldn't be that bumbling idiot who didn't know what to say or how to say it. She refused. _Lean into the fear..._ "I just called to say..." she paused to take a breath, to gather her courage, to finally, truly let go.

"I want you." She didn't elaborate, didn't make a move to explain. She had spoken the truth, what he did with it was up to him. She wouldn't push if he still didn't think things would be "appropriate", but she wanted him to know where she was at in this. She wanted to believe that anything could happen again, wanted to have her faith restored, wanted him to know.

There was only the slightest hint of hesitation before he spoke. "I'm on my way."

~*~*~*~

Comments/Reviews are love!


	2. I Need You

~*~*~*~

_I Need You_

Owen Hunt had been practically raised in the Boy Scouts. He knew the motto like the back of his own hand—_Always be prepared_. Suffice it to say he felt that nothing could have prepared him for this. His hands clenched around the steering wheel of his well-worn ragtop jeep. He was sitting in the parking garage of her building, waiting. She had called a little over 45 minutes ago, her voice sounding soft and warm, and just the tiniest bit ragged, almost as if she had not spoken in a few hours and had lost the natural tone and cadence of her voice.

He had not been prepared for the sound of it, but the second she had blurted out a question, it seemed to fill a void that he hadn't even known was there. Just like her presence had done for him on the day of the accident, and on at least half a dozen days since then. He didn't know exactly how he had not seen her since the vent, whether or not it was hospital semantics keeping them apart, or masterful avoidance on her end. Seattle Grace was not as massive as one was lead to believe. Either way, as welcome as the phone call had been, it was still jarring.

If there was anything that Major Owen Hunt hated, it was not being prepared. If you weren't prepared, you made mistakes, and even though he was a firm believer in learning through mistakes, Owen still preferred to avoid them if he could. Which was why he was now sitting in his jeep contemplating his next move very carefully. He had told her a few weeks ago that he didn't think certain actions would be appropriate, and yet here he was at 3:15 in the morning, gathering his courage to face her.

He hadn't been looking for her on the day of the accident, just like he hadn't been looking for her in Joe's the night before he officially started work at Seattle Grace, or the night that Timothy had died. He hadn't been looking, but she had found him all the same. He would have liked to call it a coincidence, but there was just one problem with that. Major Owen Hunt didn't believe in coincidences. He believed in things happening for a reason, and in himself. Sometimes he felt that his belief in those very two things was the only thing that kept him sane.

He took a deep breath and released it, belatedly noticing that he could see the stream of air in the decidedly cold interior of his jeep. He had turned off the engine and lights as soon as he had parked, but had been unable to leave the car yet, his hands still convulsively gripping the steering wheel. Owen considered himself a man of honor—had been… hopefully still was, but tonight, he wasn't so sure. He trusted himself and her with the challenge of "keeping things professional", but how could he ask her to deal with his After?

So many things had changed since his last tour in Iraq, and he still couldn't go a single day without seeing the faces of his men, his friends that he had lost. He knew intellectually that the RPG ambush had not been his doing, but still the responsibility he felt for his men ran deep. _Survivor's Guilt_, the Army shrink had called it upon his return stateside before handing him his discharge papers. All Owen knew was that Psych was crap. Putting a name to something didn't make it go away, and it was left to him to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

But now, tonight of all nights he couldn't let it affect him. Tonight he needed to be as much of his Before self as he could. He just wished he knew if that was possible. She had seen more of him than he cared to admit, but was still sticking around. He got the feeling that she had opened up to him more than she had anyone else as well. People normally didn't go around talking about feeling their father's hearts stop beating. She had trusted him with that information the same way she had trusted him with the vent. He was her safeguard, and in a way she had become his savior. She was providing a way to see past himself, a way to get to know her, as it were.

It still didn't alleviate the fear though. The creak of the leather on the steering wheel alerted him to the fact that his grip was straining not only his hands, but the structural integrity of his car as well. He took a deep breath and commanded his fists to unclench. He wouldn't be afraid of being around her, wouldn't be afraid of losing her. Wouldn't be afraid of needing her.

He had vehemently denied needing her, mostly out of fear of what he had almost done that night. She had come up behind him unexpectedly, and he had reacted violently -- as any veteran who had seen more than his share of action would be wont to do. His only consolation was that he hadn't actually struck her when his arm jerked up defensively before he could wrestle his body's reaction to the ground.

The fear had been paralyzing. If he closed his eyes he could still feel the adrenaline pumping, and the sheer force of will it had taken to convince his fuzzy brain to thrust his right fist into the pocket of his jacket so as not to brutalize her further.

He had kissed her that night, in a sense mauled her, to prove to himself that he was still capable of human connection. He had thrust himself upon her in the worst way possible, out of desperation and intense longing. The fear still haunted him. He had been so afraid it would haunt her as well.

But, they had come a long way since then, he reminded himself. She… Cristina…He tried her name out in his head, wondering and hoping he would be able to say it aloud tonight, as he had so often thought of doing Before. Cristina wanted him. It was that thought that finally propelled him to movement. He would not be a coward about this. She was worth it to fight through. He flung open the door of the jeep and pocketed his keys, hoping that he had not lingered too long.

He jerked up the collar of his worn leather coat against the cold and strode purposefully toward the entrance of the parking area. When she had called he had been staring at the ceiling of his sparse bedroom, unable to shut down the memories long enough to get any type of decent rest. In fact, her call had been a welcome distraction. He had taken enough time to shower, throw on some jeans and a black button down shirt and hop in the car. Now, he simply hoped he wasn't too late.

He rounded the corner, and stopped short. A petite figure in a maroon Berkeley sweatshirt was curled up in the entryway, waiting for him as he had waited for her not so many weeks ago. Owen felt the smile pulling at his face. She was beautiful, would always be to him, of that fact he was certain. She hadn't spotted him yet, giving him ample time to study her in the soft moonlight. She was a woman who didn't mince words, and for that he was glad. He didn't have to spend hours theorizing over what she really meant. She said what she needed to when she needed to, and it was a gift he admired.

She lifted what appeared to be a coffee cup to her lips, which caused the smile to widen even more. He had to wonder if caffeine even affected her the way it did normal people, or if she abused it so often that she was now immune to its effects. From her alert stance he gathered that it hadn't lost all its potency… yet… Her hands were so small, completely dwarfed by the cup she held in them, but he had seen their skill and dexterity first hand, not to mention had been teased by their softness on the nape of his neck more than once…

He shook his head forcibly, and cleared his throat, drawing her attention as he stepped closer. Neither said anything for a moment. She nodded as he sat down next to her on the stoop, careful not to sit too close in case she had changed her mind. She had an imperious look about her, almost as if she were going to lecture him on punctuality, before it softened and her lips quirked into an almost smile, the warmth spreading quickly to her eyes.

"Took you long enough." She quipped, begrudgingly handing over her coffee cup whenever he gestured for it. "Where do you live anyways?"

He took a sip of the coffee, noticing it's dark strength before he handed it back. "Not far." He said quietly, opting for the truth. "Had some things to work through."

Her quizzical look softened as understanding dawned in her deep brown eyes. "Yeah…" she breathed. "I know exactly what you mean."

He studied her for a moment, wondering what was going on beneath her enigmatic exterior, but decided not to push. For tonight they had come far enough. She wanted him, and he needed her. It really was as simple as that. Now that he was here, softly pressing his knee into her thigh, he wasn't sure that the opposite wasn't also true. She had opened up to him, now it was time to return the favor.

"Cristina." He said softly, putting a delicate emphasis on the 'a' sound, and watching as her eyes widened. So he wasn't the only one who had noticed that until this moment he had been unable to say her name. "I _do _need you." She pursed her lips slightly, and set the coffee cup on the step in front of them as he reached out to finger one of the curls at the nape of her neck. Somehow, he wasn't afraid of admitting this to her. "I need you."

She didn't answer with words, but instead with actions, placing both hands gently on either side of his face and softly pressing her lips to his own. He felt himself smiling into the kiss, even as his own hands traveled to grasp her waist and pull her closer to him, the need to be nearer to her growing by the second. She lingered for a moment longer before pulling away and resting her chin on his shoulder, the sigh of contentment physically moving her entire frame, both arms now circling his waist. "Do you want to come inside?"

He couldn't help the chuckle. "Are you sure that's appropriate?" he teased lightly, grasping her chin before she could pull away in indignation and kissing her with a tad more force than she had just exhibited on him, his hand threading into her hair even as his tongue swirled past her now parted lips. She moaned into his mouth, and Owen inhaled deeply as her hands plunged inside his jacket, snaking up his back, her fingertips tracing torrid little patterns down before grabbing the back of his belt and pulling them both into a standing position and breaking off the kiss.

"I'm pretty sure it's not." She said, her eyes sparkling with a ferocious gleam, one eyebrow cocked, her hands now traveling to the front of his belt buckle, and pulling him closer. He stiffened, every sense on high alert as her fingertips grazed the skin of his stomach, and he had to fight the urge to throw her over his shoulder only to throw her down when he found the proper apartment. Hell, any apartment would do. "Only one way to find out."

~*~*~*~

**A/N-** Thanks for all the kind reviews thus far. Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter!


	3. Oh Baby, Oh Baby

_Oh Baby, Oh Baby_

~*~*~*~

Cristina was 98.7 percent sure that her mother was somehow responsible for the fact that she had tripped while trying to walk sexily up the stairs. As much as her mother seemed to want to get her only daughter married off, she couldn't seem to do anything without causing Cristina supreme embarrassment, and so it only made sense that she had tripped while attempting to seduce him, dragging Owen up the stairs by the belt buckle. However, maybe the joke was on Helen for once as a certain redheaded major was once again able to catch her when she fell.

They were a tangle of limbs dangling precariously above the cement steps, and Cristina had just about all she could do to keep from laughing outright at the absurdity of it all. Owen, however, did not seem to have the same amount of self-control as she did, his deep laugh sounding in her ear even as the arm now securely wrapped around her waist tightened reflexively.

"Now, now," he whispered, his breath torturing her ear, "I have no desire to _be_ a doctor tonight." Cristina shivered, not so much from the cold as from the way his lips were just barely brushing against her ear lobe. "I'd much rather just _play_ doctor."

He stood up straight, lifting her with ease before setting her on her feet, his hands turning her around the right way, yet gently finding a way under her sweatshirt, teasing across her hips and down the outside of her thighs before he lightly tapped her ass, nearly causing her to trip again out of surprise. "Hey!" she did laugh this time, making sure to have a firm grip on the railing before turning to face him. Being a step above him definitely had its advantages, as she was now eye level with him, his eyes searing into her with an intensity that took her breath away. The lightheartedness of the last few moments dissipated instantly, leaving in its wake something much more volatile and deliciously dangerous.

Without hesitation Cristina grabbed his face with both of her hands, crushing her lips to his without any thought of finesse. Her tongue fought to convey her passion as his hands desperately yanked her hips to his, wandering freely from her back to her ass to her thighs before he lifted her into his arms with a small grunt. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and taking his not so subtle hint, wrapped her arms around his neck, leaving his hands free to grip the railing as he scaled the rest of the stairs in a few quick steps.

"Second door on the left." She muttered all the while doing her best not to break contact with his lips, both of their tongues now fighting for domination over the other, neither wanting to stop for breath. His powerful arms wrapped around her once more, one of his hands finding the tips of her hair and tugging slightly, tipping her chin back even as he found her door by not so subtly banging her into it.

"Sorry," he grunted, taking advantage of her tilted chin to move his excruciatingly brilliant form of torture to her neck, gently nipping and suckling as she fought with her free hand to find the doorknob wedged firmly into her backside, hoping desperately that she hadn't locked it. Finding it, she grasped it even as Owen's ministrations turned a little rough, the nip at her neck causing a spark of pain before she gasped in pleasure, the door opening as her hand convulsed involuntarily.

They tumbled inside, Cristina sliding from his grasp to rip off her sweatshirt as Owen kicked off his shoes. His mouth claimed hers again as they struggled together, her hands simultaneously attempting to rip off his jacket and undo his belt as his own were left to wander freely over bare skin for the first time, his fingertips dancing up her ribcage and over her back to the clasp on her bra as his mouth burned holes in her neck and shoulders.

Finally free of his jacket and belt, Cristina wasted no time, grasping the button of his jeans, working it and the zipper while she dragged him towards her bedroom, hoping that the walls, floors, and ceilings were thicker than they appeared. "Nice place." Owen muttered into her cheek as the clasp on her bra popped open and it joined the trail of clothing leading directly to her bedroom.

"I'll give you the tour later." She quipped as his hands found her breasts and she had all she could do to even concentrate on the words. She slammed the bedroom door closed, glad that she had had the foresight to turn on the lamp before going downstairs to meet him, her fingers now rapidly working on the buttons of his shirt as his mouth followed his hands to her breasts. She gasped as his tongue began to tease in a way that she had begun to fear might never happen again, and lost all patience for the buttons on the shirt. There was a distinct popping sound as the shirt flew open, revealing his chest, not too sculpted, but wonderful all the same.

"I can't fix that." She stated, her hands running over his shoulders to get the rest of the shirt off, lingering on the contours of his body as he wrapped his arms around her waist, "I'm a surgeon, not a seamstress." He lifted her once more to deposit her not so gently upon the bed, his hands now working on the button and zipper of her jeans as she shoved his down from his hips far enough for him to kick out of. She could see his erection through the army regulation boxers he wore, could see the gaping scar on his leg that she had stapled herself, the gash traveling up and disappearing into his shapely ass.

She leaned back as Owen grasped the waistband of her jeans, pulling them down, allowing her to kick them the rest of the way off. He leaned forward and captured her lips with his own once more before pulling back ever so slightly. "Cristina…" he breathed, the unspoken question in his tone. Was she sure about this?

Cristina shivered and shifted to her knees, acutely aware of what she wanted now more than ever. She traced her fingers up the arms placed on either side of her, bringing them to rest on his well-rounded shoulders. "I want you." She whispered, leaning closer to take his ear lobe into her mouth, taking pleasure in the sudden exclamation from him. "Owen, I want you."

She pulled back just in time to see his eyes cloud over with desire, his mouth devouring her own, as his hand traveled from her neck to her breasts, and further down, stopping to tug the black lace underwear she was wearing down and away even as Cristina returned the favor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing him to lay her back, his fingers slipping inside of her. Her sudden intake of breath seemed to spur him on, but there was only so much teasing a woman could take.

Cristina reached down and grabbed him, feeling his hardness respond and throb at her touch, Owen's grunts of satisfaction sounding in her ear before he reached down to grab both of her hands, lifting them above her head as he thrust into her, his lips crushing to hers just as she gasped in the most wonderful sort of pain. She urged him on, thrusting her hips to his, not wanting to slow down even for a moment, tongues still battling, her hands straining against his grip, her legs wrapping around him, trying to match him thrust for thrust, the moans from both of them blending together just as their bodies were now melding.

He reached to entwine their fingers, and she squeezed them tightly, moving with him faster now. He seemed to know instinctually what she needed without her having to say anything but the feverish whispering of his name. She could feel the familiar warmth building inside of her, and was desperate to keep it at bay for just a little while longer. It had been too long, but she knew that these sensations would only serve to drive her crazy until she gave herself over.

"Cristina…" he purred into her ear as she moaned, releasing one of his hands to run her hand through his hair before grabbing his elbow as he braced himself on her bed to more firmly anchor herself to him.

"Owen." She breathed, relaxing into him, allowing him to fill her as completely as he could, her body now responding of its own accord, her legs quivering even as she fought for breath. His mouth found her breast again, and Cristina arched into him, feeling as though she may just spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Wait…" he murmured, his tongue swirling around her nipple, the hand not still entwined with hers kneading the other. "Just wait…" The sudden flash of memory associated with those words urged her on as she tensed, and when he reached down to further encourage her the waves of pleasure overtook her slight body as she shuddered, her hand crushing his own as she braced her head against his shoulder.

He rode with her, whispering her name as she clenched around him, and his voice caught in his throat with his own orgasm. They clutched one another, desperate to remain grounded to each other with their mutual release. Cristina finally raised her head, kissing her way up his shoulder to his face, and then finally capturing his lips with her own. She sighed as he slid out of her, pausing to brush a tendril of hair out of her face before laying back and gathering her to him.

Cristina smiled into his chest, knowing that they had both gotten exactly what they wanted and needed.

~*~*~*~*~

Owen listened quietly to her slow and steady breathing, but knew she wasn't asleep for the patterns that she was delicately tracing on his chest. Neither had spoken a word in sometime, but he sensed that that was all right. This was not an instance of words failing so much as it was of words strictly not being enough.

He didn't know what he had ever done to deserve this woman, but he hoped to God that he never did anything to screw it up. Cristina was so beautiful, so passionate, so… Cristina. It was almost impossible to describe her and the way she made him feel. Alive, and yet so much more.

It was now close to 6am. Neither had slept at all, the only breaks in contact from each other to retreat to the kitchen for a glass of water, a brief tour of the apartment, and a quick casing of the room to look for the missing buttons from his shirt. She had apologized for that one, although he was still having a hard time believing the sincerity of an apology delivered with such a devious smirk. He had done his best to show her that there were no hard feelings, slowly, surely, over and over again. He thought she had gotten the message.

His rough fingertips gently explored her body, and he found himself especially enamored with the scar that the icicle had left just a few short months ago. He had felt the attraction to her almost instantly, but if not for that icicle, he might have never had a chance to act on the impulse that had ultimately lead him here, to this very moment with her.

"Admiring your own handy work?" he heard her whisper, and he smiled as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You could say that," he said softly, tracing the scar gently before splaying his hand across her stomach and tracing his way down her thigh.

She turned in his arms to face him. "Two can play at that game." She stated, her own fingertips now following the curve of the scar on his leg. "Quick and dirty, you said."

Owen chuckled. "I think we already covered that tonight." He brought his hand up to her cheek, cupping it lightly, his eyes entranced with her own. "Several times."

"We covered a lot tonight." Cristina propped herself up on her elbow before resting her chin on his chest. "Befores, Afters, wants, needs…" her voice trailed off. "Where do we go from here?"

Owen smiled. "The only place we can go." He leaned in to gently kiss her, hoping to express everything he still couldn't say with his actions rather than his words. "We go forward. Together."

He reached for her hand, once more entwining their fingers before he settled her back against his chest. "Together." She whispered. "In the Now."

~*~*~*~*~

_The End_

_Or rather, the beginning of something beautiful._

**_A/N:_** That's all folks! Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
